


A Normal Day in the Life of John Watson

by RookHallow



Category: johnlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RookHallow/pseuds/RookHallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello fellow fanfic readers! This fic isn't completed yet but this is what I have so far. Forgive me if you see any grammatical errors or mistakes.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Normal Day in the Life of John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fellow fanfic readers! This fic isn't completed yet but this is what I have so far. Forgive me if you see any grammatical errors or mistakes.

"What did you say?!" John snapped from the kitchen fixing Sherlock with a scowl.

"You heard me." Sherlock spoke with an unconcerned drawl as he turned his attention to his microscope, a defensive sniff clearly audible before turning his back to John's short stature.

It was early morning at 221B Baker Street and John was already puffing about the flat in a huff because Sherlock seemed only to want to argue for arguments sake. It was drawing on his nerves.

"I can't believe you!" John threw his hands down hard on the table. "Have you got anything else to say?"

"Mm," Sherlock cast him a swift glance before fixing his attention on whatever damned experiment he was working on. "You could pick me up some nicotine patches while you're out."

"UGH!" John stomped tot he coat rack, the gesture unimpressive in his house slippers, and grabbed his coat. Kicking off the darned slipper, and jamming his feet into his shoes, he slammed the door to the flat and mad his way outside into the open air of early-morning London.

\---------

It was dark and incredibly cold outside by the time John made his way back to the flat. He had his hands shoved as deep in his pockets as he could when he arrived at their front door. While John had taken his stroll through London his anger had subsided but it hadn't completely dissipated. The detour through the park had taken the edge off considerably when he had watched the children and listened to the birds. Still, John's mind kept returning to Sherlock being extraordinarily insufferable this morning.John peeked at his phone while shifting the grocery bag on his arm. It blinked with an unread message,

"John? SH"

Taking a deep breath and flushing a bit, he opened the door to the flat as quietly as he could before tiptoeing inside and clicking the door shut. Afraid to turn around John rested his forehead on the door momentarily before straightening and making his way to the kitchen to set the kettle boiling. Tossing the bag with the patches inside on the counter, he set to work in the search of mugs but to his surprise there was a cup of tea, untouched, on the counter and a sleeping Sherlock beside it. For a moment John's heart jumped up into his throat with surprise before he took in the sight of Sherlock's sleeping face. His microscope was pushed out in front of him, forcing a path on the cluttered table. Sherlock was resting his head on his arms extended like a cats mid stretch with drool slightly pooling on his sleeve from the corner of his mouth. John's expression softened as he made his way to the cabinet. Setting two mugs on the counter John prepared to make Sherlock and himself a fresh cuppa. That was when he noticed the bag of fingers Sherlock must have snatched from the morgue jammed in-between the mugs and plates. Knowing Sherlock, he probably thought he was sparing John by cramming his experiments in the cupboard as a peace offering. With a nervous chuckle John swallowed the bile rising in his throat and decided to abandon his tea momentarily and update his blog.

Trudging over to the couch, John plops himself down and grabs his laptop when he stops to glare at nothing in particular as he notices that it's warm. Figures, Sherlock always manages to break the unspoken rule of common decency and wiggle his way into his business.

A loud grunting noise comes from the kitchen and startles John into almost standing, grabbing desperately at his laptop before it could tumble off his lap. Now John was directing his glare at the snoring creature sprawled on the counter. Huffing angrily, John stands up and places his computer on the couch before pulling his shirt down curtly to remove wrinkles before proceeding to clean the kitchen more loudly than necessary. 

He starts with the mugs that he had abandoned and begins to fill the sink up with water and plop the dishes in afterward. To John's satisfaction he hears Sherlock briskly sit up on the first clatter of his violent cleaning before almost launching himself off the stool he was sitting on.

 Turning around with a barely concealed smirk, John stares affectionately at the disheveled detective. It was satisfying to catch Sherlock Holmes unawares in even the smallest of circumstances.

"Mmhuh, John. John you're back." Sherlock makes a grunting sound while he examines the doctor from head to toe. "Ah." John gives him a quizzical squint but is just met with indifference again. Shrugging, Sherlock jumps the short way off the stool and and brushes his face against John's freezing him to the spot. It wasn't until after standing there for longer than necessary did he notice, with much chagrin, it was obvious that Sherlock had just been reaching for the bag he had plopped on the counter behind him for he was now watching Sherlock apply practically all of the nicotine patches at once. 

 With a loud sigh and shake of his head, so that he wouldn't have to self-evaluate why he was embarrassed in the first place, John plunk down beside Sherlock on the couch and licked his lips, as was his habit. Mid-lick, however, John paused to notice Sherlock watching him from his slouching position on the couch. His watchful eyes that had saved thousands of lives and notice the tiniest of details happened to be currently staring at the way John's habitual lip licking was going to pan out.

Immediately, a heavy flush raced across John's cheeks and he looked away in the opposite direction to avoid eye contact. Shit. There was no way he was going to be able to hide that reaction. 

Behind him he heard Sherlock chuckle slightly before he defensively swiveled around and was faced with half lidded eyes and slightly parted lips that beckoned him closer. John simply stared right back at his heart shaped lips while in his nervousness, licked his own lips on instinct before making eye contact. They were caught in a dead stare, but of them panting slightly, and John felt a drop of sweat run from his hairline to beneath his jumper. 

"John" Sherlock laced the word with so much dripping intention that he could feel his stomach tightening with arousal.

It didn't take much, John hesitantly leaned forward and just like that, Sherlock was on top of him. John almost let out a snorted laugh but there wasn't room to with Sherlock's tongue colliding into his while his long fingers splayed across the small of his back. John allowed himself to relax into the touch as he grabbed a fistful of the tangled mess of Sherlock's hair bringing him down.  They both hissed when their arousal brushed against each others in their desperate attempt to get closer, scrambling about to feel ever bit that they could as soon as was physically possible.

 

 

 

 

\------

"John?" There was a muffled call from the kitchen and a distracting slurrrping sound that stirred John's train of thought.

"Yes, Sherlock?" Sherlock looked at his placidly from the kitchen doorway, "did you remember to get my nicotine patches?"

John could feel an internal sigh about to erupt from his chest. "Sherlock, you realize you can overdose on nicotine patches, yes?"

A grunting sound of acknowledgement resonated from the kitchen before the source of the sound appeared. "Please, John. I'm not one to be careless."

Rolling his eyes John gestured to the bag beside the door. "I won't be included in your careless addictions anymore so don't expect any more favors."

A passing smile flitted its' way across Sherlock's face before the bored mask of indifference replaced it. "Shall I play you the piece I composed this morning?" He waved a hand towards the violin propped in his favorite chair by the fireplace.

"Yeah, well-" John's tongue trips over itself. He makes indeterminate vowel sounds for far too long before finally settling on, "Right, then." Sherlock would always be the grand master of snark. "Go ahead." John was at least somewhat satisfied that Sherlock had found the inspiration to compose this morning. John closed his eyes as the room was filled with the soft wailing, low and melancholy, of Sherlock's violin.


End file.
